POEMS 


BY 


WILFRID  EARL  CHASE 


Revised  and  Enlarged  Edition 


W.  E.  CHASE 
Madison,  Wisconsin 


Copyright,  1913, 
^f^  1  By  Wilfrid  Earl  Chase 


9  V  i*J'}:  \.} 


CONTENTS 


The  Lake's  Edge 

Thistledown 

Song  of  the  Satellites 

The  First  Snowfall 

Pasque  Flowers 

Where  the  Birdfoot  Violets  Grow 

Black-eyed  Susan 

The  Dragon-fly 

Surcease 

Playdays 

A  Fountain  of  Beauty 

Faith 

The  Works  of  Life 

Sorrows  Shall  End 

Good  Cheer 

Shadows 

Benevolence 

Open  the  Door! 

Consider  the  Stars 

Brotherhood 


281127 


THE  LAKE'S  EDGE 

The  leaves  of  all  the  border  trees 

Are  gently  vibrant  in  the  breeze; 

Leaves  of  linden,  oak,  and  thorn 

Murmur  sweetly,  seeming  born 

All  to  pleasure,  none  to  mourn: 

And  safe  on  parent  twigs  content  abiding,— 

Whisper  low,  soft  and  low. 

As  secrets  dear  to  covert  friends  confiding. 

Now  Cynthia's  silver  scutcheon  shines, 

And  thousand  stars  come  twinkling— 

Spica  white,  Denebola, 

Regulus,  Cor  Caroli, 

Vega,  Altair,  and  the  rest 

To  rival  her  display  a  gentle  inkling. 

And  now  from  glades  and  leafy  shades. 

The  merry  sprites  in  caps  and  bells  come  tinkling. 


THISTLEDOWN 

From  the  pasture  on  the  hillside, 
Gently  loosed  from  parent's  crown, 

Like  a  fairy,  light  and  airy, 
Drifts  a  thistledown. 

Wafted  skyward  by  the  breezes— 
Phantom-like  its  snowy  gown — 

Nonchalantly  eddying  onward. 
Floats  the  thistledown. 

Now  it  near  the  earth  approaches. 
Gaily  skirts  the  busy  town; 

Children  spy  it,  laughing  chase  it. 
Fluffy  thistledown! 

Out  again  o'er  wood  and  greensward, 
O'er  the  furrowed  plow-lands  brown. 

Prosper  in  thy  flight  erratic. 
Little  thistledown! 


SONG  OF  THE  SATELLITES 

We  are  far  in  the  starry  heights,— 

Ariel,  Umbriel; 
Far  in  the  starry  heights, — 

Ariel,  0! 
Casting  our  friendly  lights 

All  through  the  quiet  nights, 
Ariel,  Umbriel,  0! 

We  are  orbs  swiftly  winging, 
In  vasty  space  singing, — 

Titania,  Oberon,  0! 
True  to  the  inner  sphere. 

Speeding  yet  ever  near, 
Swift-winging  satellites,  0 ! 

Titania,  Oberon, 

Ariel,  Umbriel,— 
Tending  fair  Uranus,  0! 

Casting  our  starry  lights 
All  through  the  quiet  nights,— 

Sweet-singing  satellites,  0! 


THE  FIRST  SNOWFALL 

The  winds  are  still;  the  air  is  chill; 

The  leaden  sky  hangs  low; 
While  cold  and  drear  and  brown  and  sere 

Lies  all  the  world  below. 

But  see  that  sprite  in  fleecy  white, 

From  realms  of  upper  air! 
Nor  has  it  flown  from  heaven  alone — 

They  thicken  everywhere. 

With  airy  grace,  at  leisure  pace, 

They  softly,  gently  fall 
0*er  field  and  fen  and  grove  and  glen, 

Alike  transforming  all. 

And  when  tonight,  fair  Luna  bright 
Through  rifting  clouds  shall  glow— 

0  splendrous  sight!  the  Earth  bedight 
In  spotless  robe  of  snow. 


PASQUE  FLOWERS 

Hail,  Pasque  Flowers!  beautiful  as  ever, 
Fve  climbed  the  bluff  to  visit  you  today; 

And  here  again  I  see  your  fairy  legions 
Betokening  the  end  of  Winter's  sway. 

A  miracle,  as  ever,  your  appearing, 

So  late  congealed  beneath  your  mantle  white, 
For  this  is  but  capricious  ApriFs  season, 

A  time  of  fickle  day  and  frosty  night. 

Or,  is  it  true  you  spring  from  earthy  substance. 
Wooed  fitfully  by  April's  tepid  sun? 

Or  drop,  by  stealth,  from  summer  hills  of  heaven, 
Take  instant  root?    A  clever  sleight!  well  done! 


Howe'er  it  be,  you  stand  here  in  your  glory — 
Existences  with  subtle  perfume  fraught — 

Your  hearts  of  gold,  inviting  shrines  of  beauty, 
Your  chalices  in  fairest  azure  wrought. 

With  careful  foot  I  slowly  stroll  among  you, 
Crowning  the  bluff  like  pure,  effulgent  gems; 

Then  lying  midst  you,  smell  your  unplucked  blossoms 
And  gently  touch  your  hardy,  downy  stems. 

1  ponder  on  your  vigor  and  your  beauty. 
True  harbingers  of  balmy  summer  days, 

Like  poets  wise  amid  afflicted  peoples 
Foretelling  times  propitious  with  their  lays. 


WHERE  THE  BIRDFOOT 
VIOLETS  GROW 

I  know  a  place  in  an  upland  glade 
Where  the  birdfoot  violets  grow. 

Remote  it  is  from  the  haunts  of  men, 
And  the  Maytime  zephyrs  blow 

Mid  the  leaves  of  the  ever-guarding  trees 
With  a  mystic  murmur  low. 

And  some  of  the  violets  gaily  bloom 
In  the  sun  of  the  open  glade; 

And  some,  adoring  the  guarding  trees, 
Bloom  at  its  edge  in  the  shade; 

While  others,  heeding  a  sylvan  call, 
Into  the  woods  have  strayed. 


But  not  alone  do  the  violets  bloom, 

For  here  are  sister  flowers, 
Dotting  the  earth  in  varied  hues, 

Decking  the  fragrant  bowers. 
While  various  creatures  of  earth  and  air 

Rejoice  through  the  drowsy,  sunny  hours. 

Here  stands  a  loving  sisterhood 

In  lavender  and  green  and  gold; 
While  banks  of  oxalis  blossoms  shy 

Their  frail  and  modest  bells  unfold. 
Visited  oft  by  alar  friends — 

Rovers  free  and  suitors  bold. 

Abiding  aloft  in  her  new-found  home. 
The  tanager  flits  through  her  leafy  halls; 

The  sweet-voiced  pewee  of  the  woods. 
Late  from  the  Southland,  drowsily  calls; 

In  a  moss-grown  dell  at  the  woodland's  edge, 
The  phoebe  broods  on  her  nest  'neath  a  ledge. 


Tis  a  day  of  joyance,  for  shines  the  sun; 

Creatures  of  earth  and  creatures  of  air, 
Warm  in  its  rays,  are  at  life's  glad  height. 

Fair  is  the  world,  and  very  fair. 
Nature  invites  us  on  such  a  day 

To  open  glade  and  to  wood  and  brae. 

All  those  are  poor  who,  care-enslaved, 
In  toil  spend  all  the  balmy  days. 

Or  who,  engrossed  with  worldly  things. 
Neglect  to  tread  fair  Nature's  ways, 

Failing  to  note  the  flowers'  charms 
And  the  happy  birds'  sweet  roundelays. 

But  free  for  all  are  these  delights, 

A  boon  to  high  and  low. 
Then  come  with  me  in  the  Maytime  fair 

If  ever  you  wish  to  go, 
I'll  lead  to  the  place  in  the  upland  glade 

Where  the  birdfoot  violets  grow. 


BLACK-EYED  SUSAN 

I  am  beautiful  Black-eyed  Susan; 

The  belle  of  the  glade  am  I. 
All  the  birds  and  the  bees 

From  the  woods  and  the  leas, 
Salute  when  they  pass  me  by. 


THE   DRAGON-FLY 

Thy  earlier  life  was  humbly  spent 
Within  the  lakelet's  shallow  edge. 

Amidst  the  various  company 
Betwixt  the  rush  and  border  sedge. 

There  trilled  the  toad,  in  vernal  joy, 
A  drowsy  tune  of  soothing  pitch; 

And  there,  with  sleights  of  sorcery, 
Glided  the  water-witch; 

The  hungry  hawk  came  sweeping  by- 

The  gallinule  and  sora  hid; 
Athwart  the  water,  craftily. 

In  wavy  lines,  the  serpent  slid. 

At  last  upon  a  halcyon  day 

Thou  creptest  from  thy  lowly  home. 
In  thy  forbidding  form  and  guise. 

Misshapen  and  unsightly  gnome: 


Thy  resting  place,  a  vervain  stem; 

Then  in  the  warm  and  kindly  sun 
Came  Nature  deft,  with  gracious  hand, 

And  gently  rent  thy  garment  dun. 

Behold  what  a  wonder  here! 

Imago  in  one  short  hour; 
Released  from  an  ugly  guise, 

Endowed  with  another  power. 

Ataunt,  in  thy  new  array. 
Thou  cruisest  the  airy  sea, 

As  skilled  as  a  pilot  bold. 
As  free  as  the  winds  are  free. 

A  lord  of  the  realms  of  light, 
On  delicate  wings  of  air — 

Off  for  the  glen  or  meadow, 
And  presto!  thou  art  there. 


Now  fixed  for  a  trembling  trice, 
O  airy  and  buoyant  sprite; 

Now  darting  anear  and  yon, 
Taxing  a  nimble  sight; 

Now  toward  the  azure  heights,— 
That  province  serene  of  sky. 

That  pure,  ethereal  realm. 
Where  loitering  flecks  drift  by; 

Now  down  to  the  lands  of  the  lea- 
The  realm  of  the  grigs  and  bees- 
Resting  on  the  daisy  crowns. 
Swayed  by  the  summer  breeze. 


SURCEASE 

Gloaming  is  almost  night; 

Tired  of  day's  din  and  light, 
Would  I  my  wearied  might 

Rest  from  its  lading. 
I  to  the  forest  flee; 

Open  its  aisles  to  me! 
Far  in  dim  shadows,  see 

Peace  all  prevading! 


PLAYDAYS 

When  at  last  a  work  is  faithfully  done, 

Then  we  should  gaily  play. 
So  hie  with  your  Love  afar  and  away, 

Where  every  day  is  a  summer  day, 
And  the  waters  glide  or  lap  the  shores 

In  the  Lands  of  Rest  away. 

I  hie  with  my  Love  away; 

We  follow  the  bluebird,  long  since  gone. 
And  we  hie  us  afar  and  away. 

We  wake,  and  the  sea-breeze  is  blowing 
Mid  beautiful,  strange  things  growing; 

And  the  Spirit  of  Rest  is  ruler  here, 
O'er  a  land  all  warm  and  glowing. 


Weary  we  are,  and  mid  this  drowsy  land 
Why  not  catch  pace  with  leisure  footsteps  here? 

What  need  to  watch  the  dial's  urging  hand 
Or  watch  trade-currents  veer? 

Things  speak  in  murmurs  here,  and  softly  murmuring  say: 
"Time  ever  was  and  ever  will  be,  so  why  haste? 

Forget  the  long-borne  care  and  rest  in  quiet  here. 
On  shores  with  pine  trees  and  with  grand  palmettoes 
graced." 

Here  peaceful  powers  in  dreamy  splendor  dwell. 

A  summer  sea  its  beach,  inviting,  laves. 
Come  join  us  now  you  careworn,  weary  bands. 

In  a  land  where  men  are  free  and  chatties  are  the  slaves 

Playdays,  playdays  on  a  kindly  southern  strand! 

Playdays  where  the  days  are  warm  and  bright! 
Where  pendent  plants  in  misty  tresses  wave. 

And  the  redbird's  liquid  song  announces  light! 


Whither  tonight?    And  my  Love  says,  "Let  us  come! 

We'll  glide  in  silver  light  upon  the  sea; 
For  the  souls  of  myriad  fishes,  v^ith  longings  for  the  deep, 

Come  dov^n  at  night  and  play  upon  the  sea. 
With  v^eird,  erratic  motions  see  them  play; 

See  them  glow  and  dart  and  frolic  in  their  glee. 
Mysterious  spirit  fishes  and  eerie  water-sprites! 

O,  the  phosphorescent  beauty  of  the  sea!" 

Whither  today?    And  my  Love  says,  "Come! 

Come  where  the  surf  rolls  in!" 
So  we  play  in  the  arms  of  the  ocean 

Where  the  crested  surf  rolls  in. 
And  we  rest  on  the  waif-strewn  sand 

While  pelicans  drift  above. 
And  we  play  on  the  waif-strewn  sand. 

Or  over  its  stretches  rove. 


Whither  today?    And  I  say,  "Come! 

We'll  row  up  the  winding  river, 
Past  orange  groves  to  the  virgin  wilds 

Where  scarce  but  a  brook  is  the  river. 
0,  glorious  reaches  of  wilderness, 

Where  fair  leaves  whisper  and  quiver! 
And  the  narrowing  tree-lines  greet  and  touch, 

And  scarce  but  a  brook  is  the  river!" 

Inland  we  stroll  on  many  a  day, 
Through  the  peaceful  forest  roaming. 

Fantastic  pines  'gainst  the  southern  blue! 
And  the  soothing  sound  as  the  winds  pass  through! 

Below  on  the  sand  with  its  hardy  growth, 
In  this  peaceful  place  remote  from  the  world. 

We're  in  Nature's  care  till  the  gloaming. 

Playdays,  playdays  in  a  kindly  southern  land! 

Playdays  where  the  days  are  warm  and  bright! 
Where  pendent  plants  in  misty  tresses  wave. 

And  the  redbird's  liquid  song  announces  light! 


A  FOUNTAIN  OF  BEAUTY 

The  beauty  of  this  noble  face 
With  gentle,  loving  eyes, 

Is  not  a  superficial  grace,— 
Its  fountain  soul-deep  lies. 


FAITH 

Maze  of  antinomies  and  miracles! 
Bewildered,  purblind  we  are  led  along 
This  rock-strewn,  flower-decked,  mystic,  won- 
drous way. 
Whence  came?    What  are  we?    Whither  are  we 

led? 
Wherefore  journey  we?    Why  such  fickle  path? 
And   Nature^s  myriad  answers,   voiced  in  the 

storm's 
Wild  tumult,  fringed  on  the  gentian's  azure  cup. 
Or  limned  on  human  brow,  we  would  descry, — 
And  some  we  darkly  guess  and  some  we  almost 
know. 

Clothed  now  for  me  in  clinging  shadows,  all; 
But  I,  in  thinning  twilight,  almost  dread 
The  radiance,  and  know  not  evil  sure 
A  return  to  utter  dark.    And  you,  who  now 
With  clearer  vision  see,  nor  envy  nor 
Commiserate  my  present  situation. 
For,  soon  or  late,  will  Knowledge  in  due  turn. 
From  every  eye  the  final  veil  remove. 
Clear-sighted,  all  shall  see  the  truth— or  woe  or 
joy. 


But  wrack  awhirl  the  maelstrom,  we  of  earth,— 
But  downs  adrift  the  wildly  hurtled  winds. 
For  what  this  mortal  term,  for  some  so  sad, 
A  tragic  journey  with  the  beldam  Woe? 
Are  we  the  victims  of  a  power  malignant. 
Who  in  our  torture  finds  a  fiend's  delight? 
Or  for  eternity  of  joy,  God-fashioned? 
Pessimism!    Optimism!    O  Faith,  I  choose — 
Sometime  shall  we  be  glad  we  have  walked  a 
troubled  way. 


THE  WORKS  OF  LIFE 

High  on  the  mountain  top  our  goal  is  set. 

And  as  we  climb  the  undulating  slopes, 

Necessity  is  joined  by  host  of  needs: 

To  food  is  added  raiment,  tool,  and  scrip; 

All  these  required,  and  are  supplied — 

By  work. 

By  work.    Then  why  on  mossy  bank  should  one 

Man  lie,  the  while  his  haggard  brother  plies 

At  double  task?    So,  seeming,  do  the  Fates 

Oft  partial  deal.    But  still,  the  idle  man. 

By  whips  invisible,  is  urged  to  use; 

The  overwrought,  though  fagged  and  worn,  sustained, 

Through  brake  and  tangle  hews  to  glades  of  light. 


The  youth  arrived  at  laden  manhood's  age, 
Perplexed,  among  the  callings  seeks  a  choice: 
And  as  a  bird,  within  a  spacious  grove. 
Scarce  knows  to  nest  in  this  or  other  tree; 
So  does  a  youth,  unless  by  genius  swayed. 
Linger  in  doubt  before  he  can  decide. 

No  two  possess  one  fund  of  health  or  strength. 
One  warmth  of  heart,  one  calibre  of  mind. 
This  man,  rude  plaiting  straws,  performs  his  glad 
And  proper  function;  that,  true  riving  rocks. 
Sings  through  the  day.  Their  works  exchanged,  then 

both 
Men  wretched  and  the  hated  tasks  done  ill. 
A  work  commensurate  with  power  is  blest. 

Full  oft  is  there  discrimination  made; 

As  secular  or  sacred  every  work 

Is  categorized, — layman  or  divine. 

As  sacred  as  the  pulpit  is  the  shop. 

And  in  our  widening  lives  where  ends  are  'gained 

By  specialties,  are  digger,  artisan. 

Inventor,  preacher,  bard,  for  balanced  living 

Dependent  each  on  each. 


As  wins  the  light  in  cloudless  air,  from  first 

Approach  of  morn  to  full  meridian  blaze, 

And  none  can  say  this  part  light  from  this  full 

By  any  line  is  severed;  so  graduate 

The  various  works  of  universal  life. 

And  each  and  all,  from  him  who  humbly  digs 

To  him  who  sings,  take  necessary  part. 

But  each  who  digs  a  perfect  ditch,  must  weave 

A  perfect  web,  then  sing  a  perfect  song; 

For  work  by  work  we  gain  the  happy  heights. 


SORROWS  SHALL  END 

Again  the  myraid  stars  proclaim  the  night. 
For  some  the  day  has  closed  in  heedless  joy; 
The  happy  hours  have  passed  with  rapid  flight, 
With  scarce  a  care  their  pleasure  to  alloy. 
For  some  the  time  is  one  of  woe  and  pain; 
They  almost  wish  that  morn's  revealing  light 
Would  never  glow  again  o'er  land  and  main — 
Their  beauties  mockery  to  a  tortured  sight. 
For  me — why  name  myself  amid  the  throng 
Of  us  who  tread  this  world  of  joy  and  care? 
Because  at  last  from  out  a  torment  long — 
A  bitter  trial — at  last  my  world  is  fair; 
And  deep,  exulting  gladness  bids  me  cry — 
"Sorrows  shall  end!  God's  love  shall  never  die!" 


GOOD  CHEER 

Our  all-wise  Father  for  the  final  good, 

Doth  mold  and  build  and  hew  and  grind  and  wreck 

In  wondrous  ways,  that  to  our  mortal  minds 

Are  often  strange,  incomprehensible. 

This  man  is  bowed  with  Poverty's  iron  yoke. 

And  life  to  him  seems  scarcely  worth  the  cost. 

This  one,  whose  way  seems  flowery  bright,  conceals 

A  canker  sorrow,  making  life  a  hell. 

And  this,  though  hopeful,  coughs  his  life  away. 

While  ye  in  mental  discord  bear,  I  grant. 

The  deepest  woe  of  all;  spirits  too  choice. 

Too  highly  wrought  to  brave  the  wrenching  whirl: 

And  in  this  curative  retreat,  which  we 

In  love  have  builded  for  your  present  lodge, 

I  visit  you  today;  and  if  a  word 

Of  cheer  God  grants  that  I  should  speak,  then  I 

Most  happily  shall  hold  my  visit  good. 


Thou  first,  who  in  this  padded  room  I  see,— 
Grated  the  windows,  padded  are  the  walls. 
A  full  score  years,  they  say,  has  this  place  been 
Thy  dwelling;  and  still  thou  ravest,  still  thou  canst 
Not  meet  release.    Thy  vacant,  roving  eye 
Marks  not  the  kindly  visage  from  the  cold. 
Nor  recks  of  night  or  day,  or  foul  or  fair. 
No  friendly  word  of  sympathy  I  speak. 
Affects  thee  other  than  the  winds  that  through 
Thy  gratings  moan.     I  can  but  pass;  still,  know 
That  he  who  laid  the  malady,  will  cure 
In  his  good  time,  will  fully  compensate. 

Thou  next,— may  I  address  thee?    Yes?    Thou'rt 

sane 
Today;  thy  eyes,  thy  face  composed  assure 
Of  this;  more  sane,  perchance,  than  most  of  us 
Who  rove  at  will  and  are  accounted  sound. 
Yes,  yes,  I  know;  thy  friends  have  told  me  all; 
The  very  things  thou  last  would'st  wish  to  do. 
I  know  just  how  it  is — only  at  times 
Thy  devil  reigneth.    But  when  he  reigneth  'tis  not 
The  hardest;  no,  not  then,  but  when  thou'rt  sane, 
Guessing  the  time  till  chaos  comes  again. 
And  striving  to  be  cheerful  in  thy  woe. 


What  do  I  hear  thee  say?    "Do  not  condemn 

Me  utterly?    God  knows  I  can  not  help 

It— and— I  try—?" 

Condemn  thee?    None  dream  of  that  but  fools. 

What  choice  of  thine  that  thy  unhappy  sire, 

Held  fast  in  Habit's  grip,  addled  his  brain 

With  opium  and  gin?    Or  that  the  swing. 

Hung  from  the  old  oak  tree,  broke  and  caused 

A  cruel,  lasting  harm?    What  choice  of  thine. 

That  thousand  streams  of  circumstance  combined 

To  make  thy  mind  an  eddy? 

But  I  must  on.    Yet  not  before  I  say 

How  much  I  pity  thee:  before  I  say 

How  well  I  know  that  thou,  though  suffering 

In  loneliness,  dost,  by  thy  patience  brave 

And  by  attempts  sublime  to  gain  thy  health, 

Preach  sermons  of  inestimable  worth; 

For  our  afflictions,  lately  urgent,  slink 

In  shame  when  we  know  thine. 


And  now  another  sister. 
Thy  sane  day's  not  today,  no,  not  today. 
But  weary  years  ago  the  last, — that  day 
Thy  weeping  mother  brought  the  cruel  news. 
Thy  life  had  been  a  test,  severe  and  long. 
Each  picture  fair  was  painted  but  to  fade: 
Each  sound  grew  dulcet  but  to  die  away: 
Each  balmy  zephyr  quickly  veered  and  chilled: 
At  last  he  came;  thy  reeling  faith  grew  firm; 
Thy  hope,  thy  love,  thy  all  so  largely  placed 
In  this  true  man,  dying,— thou  sank'st  in  ruin. 


Before  I  go,  let  me  address  you  all. 

I  wish  to  make  a  prophecy;  Tve  such 

Assurance  of  good  news  I  can't  resist: — 

Of  all  diseases  that  afflict  us  now, 

Science  is  on  the  traces; 

The  time  comes  on  apace,  when  these  doors  shall  wide 

Be  swung,  to  close  again  on  woe,  no  more. 

And  if  ye  tarry  not  to  see  the  day. 

Know  this:— that  ye  shall  live  again,  all  free 

From  malady;  shall  know  eternal  joys 

That  nothing,  nothing,  nothing  can  withhold; 

Shall  see  God  face  to  face;  shall  thank  him  from 

Your  hearts  for  every  hideous  hour  spent  here 

In  this  retreat. 


SHADOWS 

There  is,  in  truth,  no  power  of  ill, 
But  all  obeys  Jehovah's  will. 
Unbroken  white, — and  blind  are  we; 
Hie  sendeth  shadows,— then  we  see. 


BENEVOLENCE 

Free  is  the  air  and  the  sunshine  fair; 

Free  is  the  bird's  sweet  song; 

And  with  never  a  price,  for  our  gladdened  sight, 

The  cloud-fleck  drifts  along; 

Free  are  a  multitude  of  things 

Whose  appreciation  enjoyment  brings. 

But  here  must  pause  the  easy,  care-free  strain. 
Hunger  and  other  mighty  powers,  amain. 
Sternly  appear,  inexorable,  and  say — 
"Observe  our  mandate,  else  we  dwarf  or  slay." 

And  their  command  is— "Work!'' 

Some  one  rhust  work  to  earn  the  world's  living; 

Shall  we  then  meanly,  basely  shirk, 

And  take  from  the  store  when  we  should  be  giving? 


What  shall  be  said  of  him,  the  shirking  wretch, 

Who,  able-bodied,  lives  in  idleness, 

A  parasite  on  kin  or  on  the  public? 

Has  he  no  spark  of  pride  that  bids  him  say — 

"ril  be  a  man?"    How  can  he  creep  and  drone 

About  a  busy  world,  e'er  stretching  forth 

An  able  hand  for  alms?    A  clog,  a  burr, 

Who  serves  him  does  both  him  and  self  a  wrong. 

Having  the  good  of  all  in  steady  sight. 
Shunning  with  worthy  pride  to  be  a  burden, 
First,  each  should  self  maintain  as  is  his  due. 
Nor  deem  it  base  or  inconsiderate 
If  needs  be  small  his  gift  to  indigence. 

But  often  is  the  struggle  so  severe 

To  wring  a  living  from  a  stubborn  world. 

Men  disregard  the  needs  and  rights  of  others. 

However  beset,  with  gracious  fairness  act. 

Have  pride  to  prove  you  have  ability 

To  get  a  livelihood  with  honesty. 

And  few  are  those  who  have  such  scanty  store 

They  can  not  help  the  needy  with  a  mite; 

And  none  too  poor  to  offer  words  of  cheer 

And  grant  a  multitude  of  kindnesses. 


But  when  you  have  emerged  from  poverty, 
Forget  not  then  your  added  obligation; 
Know  selfishness  is  trebly  odious  then. 
But  living  ever  carefully,  increase 
With  joy  your  service  to  unfortunates: 
Bestow  your  goods  with  large  and  heaping 

measure; 
Bestow  full  days  instead  of  scattered  minutes; 
But  ever  act  with  wisdom,  lest  your  gifts 
Encourage  beggary.    The  richest  gift 
Is  aid  that  helps  the  needy  help  themselves. 


OPEN  THE  DOOR! 

Open  the  door!  and  leave  it  open! 

If  you  are  kind,  object  no  more. 
If  you  object,  you  court  suspicion. 

Vivisector,  open  the  door! 


CONSIDER  THE  STARS 

What  are  those  points  of  Hght  on  high,  some  faint, 

Some  bright,  spangling  the  heavenly  canopy? 

"The  stars,"  say  all;  yet  but  a  name  to  some. 

Then  know  that,  barring  but  a  few,  the  stars 

We  see  are  suns,  analogous  to  ours. 

Small  to  our  eyes  because  so  far  removed. 

Nor  are  the  visible  myriads  all:  but  more 

Between,  beyond;  and  why  not  more  beyond, 

In  shining  legions  stretching  endlessly? 

Then  were  it  not  unreason  to  believe 

That  of  the  hosts  of  suns  but  ours  alone 

Should  be  attended  by  a  peopled  sphere? 

More  like,  the  universe  abounds  with  life, 

And  all  the  denizens  of  little  Earth 

Are  few  to  those  on  other  spheres  abiding. 


Conceited,  boastful,  mediocre  men, 

Feeling  superior  without  due  cause; 

And  you,  who,  having  much  ability 

And  being  powerful,  are  fain  to  look 

Disdainfully  upon  your  humbler  fellows; 

Consider  the  stars! 

Consider  well  their  great  or  infinite  number; 

Their  distance  vast,  how  wondrous-rapid  light 

Must  speed  from  most  for  years  to  greet  our  eyes. 

Know  that  in  truth,  amidst  the  universe. 

You  are  but  atoms  on  a  single  sphere. 

That  vanity  is  sheer  absurdity 

To  rational  and  comprehending  minds. 

Look  to  the  stars,  you  vain,  and  be  ashamed! 

Modest,  benevolent,  much-enduring  ones. 

Harassed  and  worn  by  life's  perplexities. 

Bearing  couragously  its  disappointments. 

Consider  the  stars! 

Look  often  to  the  glorious  heights  serene! 

And  as  one  seeking  respite  from  Earth's  turmoil, 

Ascends  a  mount,  and  from  its  peaceful  top 

Calmly  surveys  the  restless  world  below; 

So,  beholding  the  vast  and  tranquil  heavens, 

Feel  lifted  high  above  all  trivial  things, 

Feel  faith  increased  and  waning  strength  renewed. 

Will  not  the  Power  that  rules  the  universe 

Lovingly  direct  our  lives  aright? 

Look  to  the  stars,  you  good— be  comforted! 


BROTHERHOOD 

I  lay  there  in  the  dry,  old  well 
Where  days  before  I  blindly  fell- 
Fell  with  the  squirrels  I  had  wantonly  slain. 
Bruised  and  parched  and  starving  I  lay, 
With  no  more  strength  to  strive  again. 
How  I  had  striven  for  many  a  day 
To  climb  from  the  well!  but  'twas  all  in  vain! 
Were  they  searching  still  in  the  forest  wide? 
And  would  they  find  me  ere  I  died? 

I  raved  or  else  perchance  I  dreamed; 
But  whether  raving  or  dreaming. 
Full  wondrous  things  befell  it  seemed — 
Things  that  deserve  relating:— 


A  loosened  stone  in  the  well  there  seemed, 

Breast-high  it  was,  and  round  it  gleamed 

A  pale  and  vaporous  light. 

I  cautiously  rose  and  seized  the  stone. 

Drew  it  forth,  and  out  there  shone 

A  flood  of  vaporous  light. 

Behold!  there  was  a  spacious  cave! 
From  the  murky  well  a  gladsome  sight. 
And  the  mighty  cavern,  stretching  far. 
Was  bathed  in  the  gracious  light. 

The  loosened  stone  I  used  as  a  tool; 
Wildly  I  widened  the  friendly  door; 
Then  passed  from  the  dim  and  hated  well. 
And  felt  I  was  free  once  more. 

Free!  free!  but  was  I  free? 
Whither  might  lead  this  cavernous  room? 
Out  to  the  upper-world  and  the  sun 
Or  to  deeper  depths  and  the  gloom? 


Stalactites,  stalagmites — 
Beautiful  forms — there  seemed; 
Fantastic  forms  to  left  and  right, 
Bathed  in  the  pale,  mysterious  light 
That  seemed  to  have  no  source. 
And  in  the  clefts  and  dark  recesses 
There  seemed  a  hidden  water-course; 
For  I  heard  the  ripple  of  waters. 
And  the  murmur  and  trickle  of  waters, 
Along  some  secret  course. 

Like  brooks  that  flow  to  the  rivers. 

Were  the  smaller  caverns  to  left  and  right; 

They  entered  the  cavern  of  light; 

They  were  dark  as  the  shades  of  night; 

And  what  might  dwell  in  those  dark  retreats, 

And  sally  forth,  or  demon  or  beast, 

To  injure  or  to  affright? 

Worn  as  with  many,  many  feet 
Was  the  path  whereon  I  trod. 
What  was  the  fate  of  those  who  before 
This  selfsame  path  had  trod? 


A  curious  form  I  now  descried; 
It  proved  a  gnome  in  garments  pied. 
To  my  flood  of  questions  he  only  said— 
"I  am  a  friend  of  the  gray-squirrels  dead; 
On  and  on  is  the  road  to  the  day." 
And  he  solemnly  pointed  ahead. 

Wild  to  reach  daylight,  I  hurried  on; 

League  upon  league  did  I  walk. 

At  last  a  goblin  strange  I  saw; 

He  was  perched  on  a  jut  of  the  rock. 

To  my  eager  questions  he  only  said— 

"I  am  a  friend  of  the  gray-squirrels  dead, 

On  and  on  is  the  road  to  the  day." 

And  he  solemnly  pointed  ahead. 

Through  strange,  mysterious  depths  of  earth, 
Farther  and  farther  I  pressed; 
Then  another  creature  I  saw  ahead; 
Twas  another  gnome  as  I  guessed. 
On  reaching  him  I  found  that  he  stood 
Where  the  cavern  oped  to  a  hall. 
A  watch  at  the  entrance  seemed  the  gnome, 
A  servant  fit  though  so  small. 


Within  I  beheld  a  curious  sight: 
There  sat  people  on  seats  of  stone; 
And  opposite  me,  on  a  massive  throne, 
Sat  a  curious  being  of  kingly  mien— 
Twas  neither  savage  nor  cultured  man 
Nor  beast  I  had  ever  seen. 

"Who  and  what  may  that  strange  one  be?" 

I  asked  of  the  gnome.  And  he  answered  me,— 

"Oh  he  is  Regor,  the  just  and  great, 

A  righteous  judge  who  ne'er  doth  rate; 

The  ruler  he  of  the  fissures  deep. 

Of  the  rifts  and  clefts  and  caves; 

Nor  man  is  he  nor  bear  nor  ape. 

But  a  great  composite  being. 

Who  is  chastening  and  freeing. 

And  who  judges  without  malice 

Who  enter  his  spacious  palace. 

Oh,  the  light  of  day  is  far  away. 

Which  none  in  this  cavern  can  ever  see, 

Till  through  the  court  of  Regor  they  Ve  passed. 

Judgment  received  and  penalty  paid." 


So  said  the  solemn,  bearded  gnome 
At  the  door  of  the  palatial  hall. 
Continuing  in  a  sad,  low  voice — 
"Enter,"  he  said,  "and  await  his  call." 

A  sumptuous,  rock-hewn  palace  it  was. 
And  large  chatoyants  fitfully  shone 
High  o'er  the  beautiful,  fengite  throne. 
The  ceiling  was  domed  and  richly  wrought 
The  air  was  balmy,  and  heavily  fraught 
With  perfumes  from  censers  that  dimly  burned. 

I  joined  the  waiting  people  within; 
Solemn  they  were  and  silent  all. 
Naught  but  the  voice  of  Regor,  the  strange. 
Was  heard  in  the  mighty  hall. 

When  I  entered  a  man  was  before  the  throne; 
And  he  was  a  trapper  I  soon  perceived. 
He  had  left  a  steel-trap  days  and  nights 
Till  a  tortured  mink  was  by  death  relieved. 
Regor  was  speaking  in  solemn  vein 
Of  these  days  and  nights  of  fright  and  pain. 


A  burly  man  with  a  brutal  face 

Was  summoned  next  to  the  judgement-seat. 

Far  on  a  rugged,  northern  shore, 

To  die  the  terrible  death  by  heat. 

He  had  lobsters  dropped  in  a  boiling  vat 

The  voice  of  Regor  was  stern  and  grave, 

As  a  long  discourse  he  sadly  gave. 

And  next  was  summoned  a  pompous  man 

Who  seemed  engrossed  with  care  of  self. 

Believing  the  lobsters  in  torment  died. 

He  had  bought  their  bodies  with  wicked  pelf. 

He  had  eaten  their  flesh  in  selfish  pride, 

With  that  of  oysters  and  crabs  and  shrimps 

That  also  the  death  by  heat  had  died. 

Regor  exclaimed  in  ardent  way— 

"You  are  equally  guilty  with  those  who  slay.'* 


A  hardy  farmer  was  summoned  next. 
This  man,  in  most  ways  kind  to  his  beasts, 
Had,  with  no  drug  to  palHate, 
Many  a  hapless  male  unsexed. 
Their  cries  and  struggles  could  not  protect 
From  the  cruel  knife  and  ruthless  hand. 
The  cries  of  millions  of  tortured  beasts 
Are  yearly  ringing  throughout  the  land. 

One  by  one  did  they  answer  the  call. 
Regor  spoke  sternly  but  kindly  to  all. 
One  man  was  guilty  of  poisoning  dogs; 
Another  for  bait  had  used  living  frogs; 
Another  had  cruelly  slaughtered  his  swine; 
Another  the  horns  had  sawed  from  his  kine; 
A  woman,  a  daughter  of  riches  and  pride, 
Wore  furs  from  beasts  that  in  torment  had  died; 
Of  various  wrongs  were  others  accused; 
All  had  some  creature  or  creatures  abused. 


At  last  I  was  summoned  before  the  throne; 
And  as  I  stood  there  in  woe  and  shame, 
Thus  spoke  Regor  in  solemn  voice  — 
Rather  in  sorrow  he  spoke  than  in  blame: — 
"Nor  hunger  nor  any  other  need 
Beckoned  you  forth  to  the  woods  that  day; 
To  show  your  skill  as  a  rifleman, 
You  meant  to  take  those  squirrels  home 
And  the  bullet-holes  in  their  heads  display. 
It  was  wanton  murder  and  nothing  less, 
For  you  meant  the  bodies  to  cast  away!" 


Having  admonished  each  in  turn, 
Regor  addressed  us  all:— 
^'Injustice  great  you  all  have  done, 
For  of  your  victims  there  were  none 
But  had  some  sense  of  joy  and  woe. 
You  all  have  erred,  but  error  springs 
From  thoughtlessness  and  ignorance; 
None  would  have  done  these  wretched  things 
If  you  had  realized  your  acts. 
I  wish  you  well  in  my  decree; 
But  for  your  weal  and  for  the  weal 
Of  those  you  might  harm  were  you  free, 
It  is  expedient  that  I 
Impose  on  you  this  penalty,— 
Each  one  must  leave  this  hall,  and  lone 
Must  live  in  subterranean  ways. 
Pondering  the  wrong  he  has  done. 
When  each  his  error  fully  sees, 
He  surely  will  his  act  repent; 
Then,  suddenly,  he  will  gain  release- 
He  will  a  passage  find  to  the  light.'* 


Leaving  the  hall,  I  entered  not  a  dungeon,— 

But  pleasant  ways  and  rooms  on  every  hand 

Extended  far.    I  intuitively  felt 

This  labyrinth  for  ill  was  never  planned, 

But  rather  for  the  quiet  meditation 

Of  worldly,  thoughtless,  callous-hearted  men. 

Now  thought  I  of  the  lithe  and  graceful  squirrels 
As  skillfully  they  leaped  from  tree  to  tree. 
They  seemed  to  know  that  I  was  not  a  friend; 
How  cunningly  they  had  evaded  me! 
How  powerless  was  I  to  do  them  harm, 
But  with  the  coward  weapon  that  I  bore! 
And  then  they  fell  with  pierced  and  bleeding  heads. 
Never  to  frolic  in  the  forest  more. 

Long  did  I  wander,  and  endless  seemed  the  maze: 
I  thought  upon  the  deed  that  I  had  done; 
But  still,  mayhap,  the  thought  of  self  was  first, 
Or  else,  e'er  then,  my  freedom  I  had  won. 
Slowly  at  last  I  realized  my  wrong. 
The  same  as  I,  they  had  the  right  to  live; 
Those  happy  lives  my  ruthless  hand  had  taken, 
Powerless  was  I  again  to  give. 
Both  true  and  deep  at  last  was  my  remorse. 
And  then  a  solemn  promise  did  I  plight 
E'er  to  be  kind  if  I  should  reach  the  light 


A  sudden  great  happiness  over  me  came; 
I  longed  for  my  freedom,  that  I  might  atone; 
When  suddenly,  through  a  crevasse  in  the  rock, 
Strangely  the  light  of  the  upper-world  shone. 

Like  a  stranger  from  another  planet  dropped, 
Like  a  blind  man  seeing  once  again, 
I  entered  the  glorious  upper- world 
Dazed  or  as  walking  in  a  dream. 
Then  I  sat  me  in  the  shadow  of  a  tree 
Hoping  this  was  glad  reality. 

Slowly  the  upper-world  grew  real. 
While  unreal  grew  the  world  below; 
At  last  I  was  in  a  sunlit  land; 
I  longed  for  the  sight  of  a  fellow-man. 
To  hear  his  voice  and  grasp  his  hand. 


Not  long  was  I  constrained  to  wait, 
For  soon  I  saw  a  man  approach — 
An  aged  man  with  kindly  face. 
His  bearing  and  his  every  look 
Bespoke  benevolence  and  grace. 
I  seized  his  hand  with  ardor  great, 
And  there  beneath  the  spreading  tree 
Did  I  my  wondrous  tale  relate. 

"I  took  that  journey  long  ago/* 
He  frankly  said  when  I  had  closed. 
"Just  was  my  chastening  I  know — 
I  ate  the  flesh  of  beasts  abused. 
Having  none  near  of  kith  or  kin, 
Wishing  my  folly  to  atone, 
I  built  myself  a  cottage  near 
And  here,  content,  I  dwell  alone. 
Each  weary  one  I  gladly  meet 
When  he  emerges  from  the  cave; 
And  when  he  leaves  me  I  entreat 
He  heed  the  rights  of  great  and  small. 
And  ne'er  forget  the  sacred  bond 
Of  brotherhood  with  creatures  all. 


"No  fixfed  line  does  there  exist 
Twixt  man  and  other  Hving  things; 
He,  many  powers  in  common  has 
With  many  other  sentient  beings. 

"How  much  the  worm  or  mollusk  feels 
We  scarce  can  guess— can  never  know. 
They  some  sensations  surely  have! 
That's  cause  enough  we  strike  the  blow 
Of  death  in  painless,  instant  way! 
And  if  a  use,  not  meaning  death, 
We  levy  from  a  sentient  thing, 
We  ought  to  act  in  such  a  way 
That  deed  of  ours  shall  never  bring 
Pain  or  discomfort  to  our  slave! 

"All  living  things  our  brothers  are! 
And  hard  enough  the  road  they  tread, 
Without  inflicting  needless  woe! 
They  need  a  brother's  help  instead!" 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 
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